“Tell us ’bout ’em.  Whar hev they gone to? what do they luk like?  Mebbe I ken git him fur yer,” said Jude, looking as if inclined to beat a retreat, or do anything to get away from the sound of the woman’s crying.

[Illustration:  “GET HIM—­GET JOHNNY!” CRIED THE WOMAN, FALLING ON HER KNEES, AND SEIZING JUDE’S HAND.]

“Get him—­get Johnny?” cried the woman, falling on her knees, and seizing Jude’s hand.  “I can’t give you anything for doin’ it, but I’ll pray for you, as long as I’ve got breath, that God may reward you!”

“I reckon,” said Jude, as he awkwardly disengaged his hand, “that prayin’ is what’ll do me more good than anythin’ else jest now.  Big feller is yer husband?  An’ got any idee whar he is?”

“He is a big man,” replied the woman, “and he goes by the name of Marksey in these parts; and you’ll find him at the Widow Beckel’s, across the creek.  Kill her if you like—­I hope somebody will.  But Johnny—­Johnny has got the loveliest brown eyes, and the sweetest mouth that was ever made, and—­”

“Reckon I’ll judge fur myself,” interrupted Jude, starting off toward the creek, and followed by the woman.  “I know whar Wider Beckel’s is, an’—­an’ I’ve done enough stealin’, I guess, to be able to grab a little boy without gittin’ ketched.  Spanish Crick’s purty deep along here, an’ the current runs heavy, but—­”

The remainder of Jude’s sentence was left unspoken, for just then he stepped into the creek, and the chill of the snow-fed stream caused him to hold his breath.

“Remember you aint to hurt him!” screamed the woman; “nor her, neither—­God forgive me.  But bring Johnny—­bring Johnny, and God be with you.”

The woman stood with clasped hands watching Jude until he reached the opposite bank, shook himself, and disappeared, and then she leaned against a tree and trembled and cried until she was startled by hearing some one say: 

“Beg pardon, madame, but have you seen any one pass?”

The woman raised her head, and saw a respectable, severe looking man, in clothing rather neater than was common along Spanish Creek.

“Only one,” she replied, “and he’s the best man livin’.  He’s gone to get Johnny—­he won’t be gone long.”

“Your husband, ma’am?”

“’Oh, no, sir; I never saw him before.”

“One eye gone; broken nose; scar on right cheek; powder-marks on left—­”

“Yes, sir, that’s the man,” said the wondering woman.

“Perhaps you may not have seen this?” said the man handing her one of the posters describing Jude.

Then he uttered a shrill whistle.

The woman read the paper through, and cried: 

“It’s somebody else—­it must be—­no murderer would be so kind to a poor, friendless woman.  Oh, God, have I betrayed him? Don’t take him, sir—­it must be somebody else.  I wish I had money—­I would pay you more than the reward, just to go away and let him alone.”